A Midsummer's Day
by yumi michiyo
Summary: Miroku and Sango attempt to survive the unusually hot summer's day and each other's company. Miroku/Sango of course. A four part serial.
1. A Midsummer's Day

Written for the Miroku/Sango Summer Challenge now ongoing at **mirsanficart** at LJ for the month of June. The prompt is Heat: Part one of four.

* * *

It was one of those days: the kind filled with a sweltering heat that you just could not escape, no matter what you did. They always seemed to drag on forever, so oppressive was the sticky humidity.

It was not a good day to be traveling.

Kagome panted as she pushed her bicycle along, Shippou sprawled limply in the front basket. "So… hot…"

"Quit your complaining, wench," grumbled Inuyasha, his already notoriously short temper worsened by the heat.

"Perhaps we could find a river or something to cool off in?" suggested Miroku. "I could use a nice swim. Of course, you ladies are welcome to join me, clothes are optional…"

"Pervert." Sango immediately replied but elected not to punish him physically. She could barely walk, let alone swing Hiraikotsu at him. Better to conserve her energy for worthier endeavors.

Inuyasha shook his head in disbelief. "Is that all you think about, bouzu?"

Miroku grinned. "Jealous? Perhaps you'd like to join us, then?" A slow blush started over the back of the hanyou's neck, almost invisible against the collar of his haori.

"Keh. Stupid lech."

The monk smirked and pushed back the sleeves of his robes with a sigh, securing them with a length of string drawn from somewhere in the voluminous folds. Sango watched him curiously, noticing the redness of his face.

"Don't you get hot in all those layers?" Angry as she was with him, the slayer could not help but to feel sorry for Miroku: dark-coloured, heavy robes were not the best attire for summer. Her own loose kosode was damp and clinging to her back; she could only guess at how much worse he was feeling.

Miroku grinned in reply, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Thank you for your concern, my dear Sango, but I'm quite fine. I've experienced worse summers."

"Oh." Colour rushed to her face, completely unrelated to the weather; she did not know what to say next. Small talk had never been one of Sango's strengths. Furthermore, conversations with Miroku that did not end with some form of physical punishment from her were few and far in between.

"Don't worry about me," offered the monk, sensing her awkwardness. "With any luck, we'll find some water soon."

Just then, they rounded a copse of trees… and found a rushing brook in front of them.

"Impressive, Houshi-sama," said Sango admiringly. "You must have a sixth sense."

"Good, he'll need it." Inuyasha, his sleeves tied up, strode forward and knelt at the bank. "The other five aren't working."

Miroku pointedly ignored general laughter from his companions, splashing his face with the cool water, sighing happily.

He scooted over to where Sango sat, her feet dangling in the brook.

"My offer's still open," he said, tugging at the knot of his kesa. "How about it?"

Her response was swift but eloquent: without a sound, the slayer seized the front of his robes and tossed him into the water.

"Hey, you don't know what you're missing out on!"


	2. Storm

Written for the Miroku/Sango Summer Challenge now ongoing at **mirsanficart** at LJ for the month of June. The word limit per drabble is 500. The prompt is Rain: Part two of four.

* * *

Sango sat on the veranda of the house, watching the torrential rain lashing the garden. The group had been lucky to find a place to stay for the night.

She was secretly glad they did not have to use Miroku's 'exorcism' excuse to get lodging for the night: their host, Seiji, had welcomed them with open arms and offered them lodging while they waited for the storm to pass. Sango felt uncomfortable receiving things she did not earn.

The wooden planks beneath her creaked and she turned. Miroku stood there, in a light blue kimono belonging to their host.

"Houshi-sama."

She could not stop looking at him: Sango had never seen him without his monk's robes.

Miroku chuckled softly and walked over to sit beside her.

"Is there something wrong, Sango?"

The slayer hastily tore her eyes from his body and refocused them on his amused violet gaze. "N – no, it's just that – I've only ever seen you in your monk's robes, so…"

"Ah." The monk leaned back, his palms on the veranda supporting his weight. "Don't worry; my clothes should be dry by tomorrow."

"No! That's not what I meant – I mean – it's not like it's not nice or anything – you look good… in this," Sango finished lamely, cringing inwardly at her rambling.

Miroku chuckled at the light blush on his companion's face. "Well, thank you."

A sudden boom of thunder made them both jump. They looked away from each other, embarrassed.

"This horrible weather," said Miroku abruptly. "Searing hot in the day, cold and rainy at night."

Sango nodded, grateful for the change in topic. "It's going to be colder later on."

"Indeed." He got to his feet, holding out his hand to her. "We should get in, before the rain washes us away."

She gave an unladylike snort of disbelief but let him help her up. As they turned the corner, Miroku frowned.

"Damn."

The corridor leading to the main wing of the house where their rooms were located was awash with rainwater, the planks slippery.

He shrugged. "No help for it."

Before Sango could comprehend what was going on, he had slid one arm under her knees, the other gripping her shoulders, and picked her up.

"Houshi-sama?!" squeaked Sango. "What are you doing?!"

"Carrying you," he answered calmly as though he did it every day, carefully picking his way across the boards. "The floor's slippery, you might fall and hurt yourself."

The slayer felt a surge of anger; she pushed at his shoulders, demanding to be let down. "I'm not a child, I'm perfectly capable of walking across a wet floor!"

Miroku was about to reply when his foot slid sideways. Sango squealed, flinging both arms around his neck and holding on tightly. He smirked.

Finally, they reached the other side. Sango slid from his arms, stalking to her room. She was grateful that their host had given them all separate rooms: she was not sure she could tolerate Miroku for the rest of the night.


	3. What Comes After

Written for the Miroku/Sango Summer Challenge now ongoing at **mirsanficart** at LJ for the month of June. The prompt is Sun: Part three of four.

* * *

Miroku rose with the sun and changed back into his robes. Their host had been kind enough to provide them a modest breakfast and give them directions to the next town in the area they were headed to.

The whole time, Sango had been unusually withdrawn, eating little and speaking less. More worryingly, she acted as though he were invisible.

Kagome sensed something had happened between the monk and slayer but wisely chose not to intervene, contenting herself with shooting daggers at Miroku, clearly telling him to settle the problem.

This time, however, the young man was in no hurry to apologize profusely to Sango. He had done nothing but pick her up and carry her; surely there was nothing wrong in flirting like that? Miroku was certain he was not in the wrong, and his piercing violet gaze told Kagome so.

Firm as his conviction was, he knew very well that the standoff could not last forever; one of them would have to cave in eventually. Late that night, before they were about to sleep, the monk approached Sango.

"Sango, can we talk?"

Wordlessly, he walked into the forest, knowing she would follow. A few minutes passed before he turned to face her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral. He knew his slayer; she was the kind who would have a good reason for her behavior.

Sango looked down. "Nothing."

"If I inadvertently did or said something to offend you last night, I apologize."

She gave a start at that. "You didn't."

It was his turn to be surprised.

"It's my fault, Houshi-sama, not yours," she told him. "If I've made you and the others worry, I'm sorry. I just needed time to think. "

All his resentment vanished and he reached out to touch her arm. "You can tell me what's wrong."

The slayer stiffened under his hand: Miroku's worry intensified.

"It's not your fault." Sango finally met his gaze; her eyes were brimming with tears. "I'm just confused."

"Confused?"

"Where does this leave us, Houshi-sama? When I was in your arms, I felt so safe… like I've never felt in such a long time. But – "

" – but we can't," he finished for her, holding up his gloved hand. "I know. I tell myself that everyday, Sango."

She hung her head. "I'm sorry."

The monk smiled. "It's always one or both apologizing all the time, and frankly, I'm a little tired of it." He lifted her face with a finger. "Don't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry for. Time is on our side, if we can wait until the end. Wait with me, Sango."

Her eyes flashed; she pushed him away. "We don't have time, you know that more than anyone," she snapped suddenly. "You, of all people. Our frantic search, this is all for you."

Miroku regarded her solemnly. "True. But there is hope."

"Hope isn't enough," she whispered, and fled deeper into the forest.

"… How did innocent flirting turn into this?"


	4. A Reed In The Wind

Written for the Miroku/Sango Summer Challenge now ongoing at **mirsanficart** at LJ for the month of June. The prompt is Wind: Part four of four.

* * *

Without hesitation, Miroku ran after her. He had not been expecting a reaction this strong, despite their having skirted the issue for too long.

He knew Sango was strong but brittle; she could be broken by even something as mild as a gust of wind. In this case, the metaphor was apt. The monk clenched his right fist: the beads rattled against one another.

He found her at last, sobbing her heart out into her sleeve. Miroku took her into his arms, hoping to provide Sango with at least this small comfort.

"Sango, listen to me, please," he told her, pressing his lips to her ear. "I know time is not enough; it's never enough. But hope is all we have. If we don't have hope, we have nothing."

A sniff; and a small but determined voice. "Then I'd rather have nothing."

He grinned into her hair. "If that's what you wish. But I'd rather we have at least each other, the ones we love."

Sango stiffened in his embrace. Slowly, she pushed him away again, but gentler this time. "Do you – is that what you really want, Houshi-sama?"

"Now, Sango, that won't do," he mock-scolded her. "You promised to marry me once this is all over – are you having second thoughts now?"

"Nothing of the sort!" She hastily wiped her eyes: Miroku pretended to be interested in the grass. The corner of his mouth tugged upward. She was a delightful puzzle, his Sango. Just when he thought she was fragile and vulnerable – a hair's breadth away from the edge – here she was displaying the inner core of steel beneath the glass.

"Beautiful," he said before he could stop himself. Sango blushed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Oh, and Sango: in response to your question…" Miroku would not have thought it possible for the colour of her face to deepen any further.

"What question?" she mumbled evasively.

He smirked. "Dear Sango, how bad your memory is recently. As to the nature of our relationship, we could be more than just engaged friends, if only you'd lose that nasty habit of slapping me senseless."

"What?! It seems your memory's not much better. If you wouldn't grope me, I wouldn't need to slap you in the first place!"

It was working; she was getting mad. Miroku knew from his experience that an angry Sango was a distracted one – even for a while, they could leave their problems behind and be just an ordinary girl and boy.

Naraku had stripped away her innocence; he took it upon himself to keep Sango – and through her himself – sane and whole.

"Houshi-sama?"

He grinned; he knew it was guaranteed to agitate her further. Growling in frustration, Sango slapped at him – albeit with none of the bruising force that was usual.

"Why, I do believe you're coming around to my way of thinking."

And so their up-and-down relationship went back to normal, awaiting the day they could be free to live and love.


End file.
